THIS INTERVIEW IS FOR WHAT?

Harley Quinn blithely praises Poison Ivy's skills after an impromptu lewd photo shoot. The compliment takes root in Ivy's psyche and leads to her deciding to explore career options beyond eco-terrorism and criminal enterprise.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pamela Isley was feeling rueful. When Harley Quinn's relationship with the Joker finally fell apart, something she foresaw long in advance, the Clown Princess' best friend had certain… ideas in her head. Hopes, really. Longings. Wants. She didn't go as far as to call any of them needs– the only need Dr. Isley really had in regards to Harley was her best friend getting out of a shitty relationship with an abusive boyfriend.

It would have been greedy of her to say that she needed Harley to become hers, and she was trying to be better about that sort of thing. Her particular brand of greed meshed a little too well with being a supervillain and ruining lives. Ruining lives? That was never Dr. Isley's goal, unless said lives belonged to those running shitty corporations contributing to climate change and the destruction of the environment through rampant exploitation. A lot of innocent people just happened to get caught up in the crossfire, such as it was.

Those fuckers, incidentally, were the only people who called her Dr. Isley. Even Pamela thought of herself as Ivy.

But– Harley Quinn got a helping hand at the right time from the right person, and she stuck to her rebound beau like glue. The man in question was far richer than he had any right to be, the kind of rich that usually put someone on Ivy's eco-terrorist hit list. If Ivy wasn't trying to be better, and if Greg Foster had ended up being a shithead or involved in the oil industry, well. She wouldn't have been feeling rueful. She'd probably be her best friend's girlfriend.

As far as Ivy could tell from both her own Googling and hiring various private investigators, Greg was as good as a heinously rich man could be, and Harley was happy with him. Rueful really was the right word for how she felt about it. Not heartbroken, not upset, not forever ruined. Ivy knew she and Harley would have been a good match, each balancing out the other, but it wasn't the end of the world. She could be happy for her friend while still feeling rueful over the particulars.

The awkward favor Harley had asked her for was making her feel exceptionally rueful that day, however. "'Kay, Red. I'm naked and ready for you," the impossibly pale basket case declared, standing tall and proud in the middle of the apartment. She lifted her arms towards the ceiling, wrists rolling and fingers fluttering with excitement. Both of her thighs mirrored the movement, hips swaying in time to the boppy beat she was streaming to the nearby speakers. Lifting her chin and meeting Ivy's eye, Harley made a demand that was both embarrassingly awkward and alluring all the same. "Tentacle rape me."

"Peanut, let's not call it that. Kind of weird."

"S'exactly what I'm going for, though. I've checked his porn folders, he's into that kinda shit," Harley frowned, before shrugging. Ivy made herself keep her eye above Harley's neck; the lift and stretch of her arms were already making temptations out of her tits without the jiggle a shrug added. "Fine, whatever. Plant tentacle me and then photograph me like one of your Japanese school girls," she opted instead.

"That's not much better," Ivy sighed, but it was better enough for her to do as she promised she would. With little more than a thought and a will, she communicated with the assortment of potted plants throughout her living room, and they responded to her power as they always did. Thick, rapidly-growing vines sprouted from the potted soil and moved in a way that the average human would find unnatural, but Poison Ivy was all natural, as were her powers. Within seconds, they were coming into contact with Harley's skin, wrapping around her limbs and lifting her off the ground.

"Fuck!" Harley shrieked with laughter as she left the ground behind. "We shoulda done this ages ago," she cackled, unable to keep herself still as the vines finished wrapping around her, two to each limb, one to her waist and another to her neck. She gave a testing tug at her plantlife bindings, unable to make them budge whatsoever. "Or been college roommates, when I coulda experienced with this thing all the time."

"Yeah. Would've been a good time." Ivy shrugged off her ruefulness and stepped forth, far more dressed than her bound bestie. Not one of those vines-turned-tentacles were going to slip inside Harley's body or squeeze around her breasts, as fun as it would have been. "Do you want these to be tasteful?" the green-tinted woman asked, lifting the professional camera hanging from around her neck and double-checking its settings. It had been a long while since she did photography for the fuck of it, semi-literal. In recent years, her old hobby had become a way for her to document environmental crimes and show the world what she would do to those responsible for them.

"Well, yeah. I want 'em to be, what's the fuckin' word, scrumptous," Harley grinned, though the expression simmered down after a lap of her tongue around her lips. She knew what Ivy meant. "A little tasteful. But kinda explicit, too. I dunno. You just start posing and snapping and I'll trust ya. Always do."

"Sure." Ivy smiled faintly and got to work. Over the next twenty minutes, she circled around Harley's airborne self, snapping picture after picture of the Clown Princess; though being captured by tentacles warranted some distress, she instructed Harley through various seductive expressions and movements. The positions, Harley didn't need to be actively involved in. Ivy used the vines to manipulate every part of her, snapshotting pictures that highlighted the swell of her breasts and the firm yet bubbly curves of her pale rump. "Pussy shots too?" she asked.

It was far from the first time that Harley had been naked and showing off around Ivy. The last time that they were living together, it was rare for a single day to float on by without Harley getting down with her nakey self, or doing naked cartwheels into the kitchen. But it never hit the point of real exhibitionism or voyeurism; it was a whimsical sort of nudity. There certainly hadn't been any flashing of any intimates. "Um. Yeah," Harley decided after a moment. "If you're fine with that."

"Think so," Ivy said after a moment, faintly surprised. That rueful feeling she had wasn't coming back right when it should have. … I'm getting pretty into this, aren't I? the part-plant woman realized, glancing down at her camera. Harley was still really fucking attractive to her, but Ivy was enjoying what they were doing for the artistry of it. "Yeah, definitely," she said more resolutely, and up the vines took Harley, spreading her further… and then further yet. Their tips stayed out of the Clown Princess, though it was quite close to penetration, parting her folds.

Not long afterwards, Harley was unbound and back on her own two feet, fundamentally misunderstanding the purpose of the bathrobe Ivy offered her when she tied it around her waist, like a pull-over hoodie on a hot summer day. "Lemme see, lemme see," she said as she squeezed her still-nakey self up against Ivy's side, peering down at the camera to see the lewd snapshots taken. They went through the roll together, with Harley constantly grabbing and squeezing at her best friend's arm. "I look fuckin' hot," she gushed. "So fuckin' good."

"You always do, babe," Ivy replied with a little smile.

"Yeah, but you're makin' me look like… extra fuckin' hot. You should be a professional. Red's Hot Photography, or somethin'," Harley added earnestly.

"A professional… erotic photographer? I have a doctorate. -You- have a doctorate." Ivy pointed out, leaving out all the supervillains on either of their resumes. "Bit late in life to pivot."

"Never a better time for anything than right now," Harley piped back, before grinning and wrapping her arms around Ivy in a tight hug. "Thanks so much, Red. This is exactly what I need to make Greg stop bein' a goddamn fuckin' considerate asshole for like, five seconds to fuck the fuckin' fuck out of my fuckhole," she rambled on and on.

"Hope so." A few minutes later, Harley was dressed– everything on backwards, but dressed –and heading out the door, leaving Ivy alone with her plants and her camera.

"A professional erotic photographer," Ivy murmured to herself, thoughtful, before smirking and shaking her head. Harley was just being Harley. Enthusiastic, exuberant. Crazy. I have a doctorate. And sure, people with doctorates got jobs they were waaaay overqualified for all the time but hers was in botanical biochemistry! If she wanted to get a job that didn't depend on her unique powers, there were hundreds of companies that would be eager to grab her up. Most of them would be unethical big pharma firms, sure, but with a little time, she could figure something out.

The tentacles began to withdraw as Ivy went into her bedroom to email Harley her candids, after a thirty-minute search for the seldom-used USB cable that came with the camera. It would then take her another hour to actually send the email, even though she knew Harley's email by heart, having actually made it for her; she went through an anti-electronics conspiracy phase early in her criminal career. No, the time was simply spent sitting and staring at the gallery of pictures.

… They are pretty fucking good, Ivy admitted to herself. But I have a doctorate. It would be crazy not to use it. And besides, it isn't like I would even know where to begin.

She hit send and willed her petal-chair to carry her backward, then paused. With another mental command, the outrageously large flower serving as a perch for her behind drifted back towards the desk, and Ivy opened up her internet browser. There, she typed a casual query into the search page that served as her home page. Just out of curiosity, really. She had absolutely no intention of moving forward with it, but…

EROTIC PHOTOGRAPHY JOBS IN GOTHAM

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Just testing the waters. This isn't anything serious. I am not taking Harley's chipper compliments as career advice, because as much as I love Harley, she's crazy. She knows it. She would tell me so herself, even off all her medications, Ivy reiterated to herself for the dozenth time. The self-assurances had become like a litany to her, a way to keep her nervous excitement in check. At best, this is a hobby outing.

With her phone left in the glove compartment of her environmentally-friendly car, Ivy didn't have much else to do while she waited for the elevator to take her to the 6th floor.

She had applied for one of the jobs. Not the first one on the search engine and not the second. Hell, it wasn't even on the first page of results– she had to dig down to the 12th page to find something that caught her eye. Everything else was too corporate, too capitalistically-inclined, overproduced. The 'company' that got her application was advertising on Craigslist. He wasn't even really a company, but rather an independent content creator who had once been a big name in the adult biz.

Not that Ivy knew that until she ran his name and made sure he was legitimate. Per his social media accounts, he had only recently moved to Gotham City, something that sealed the deal for her.

She had applied for one of the jobs, but not as Poison Ivy: any company doing this kind of thing would want to hire her to feature in content, not shoot it. And they wouldn't be doing it because she was hot or charismatic or could ensure every man on set had a permanent erection, they'd be doing it to court scandal for shooting (former!) supervillain porn. The fact that he was new to Gotham City made it much less likely he would know the name on her driver's license. Poison Ivy was known across the world, but Pamela Isley–

Even if he knew and could connect the dots, there were seven other Pamela Isleys in Gotham. Two-thirds of them were senior citizens, sure, but they were there. They would obfuscate her identity and give her a better chance at…

Testing the waters. Not serious. Not taking Harley's supportive affection as career advice, Ivy reminded herself again, closing her eyes. They opened at the soft chime of the elevator reaching her destination, and Ivy strode out into the hallway of the condominium building. Had her prospective employer invited her to some high-rise apartment for the interview, she would've just ghosted on the interview. The upscale interior of the building further cemented his legitimacy in her eyes.

… Not that she was actually INTENDING to take the job if he offered it to her! After orienting herself, Ivy headed down the hall until she rounded a corner and found herself before Troy Bashear's door. She glanced at herself in a mirror suspended over a quaint table and some wilting orchids. Foregoing her own vanity for a moment, Ivy reached out to caress one of the drooping petals, sending fresh life into it and the soil that held it. Not getting enough sunlight here, she thought to herself. Directly across from a window, but not one that lets in any natural light. I'll have to mention it to him.

After a faint smile at the flower, Ivy lifted her eyes to study her own reflection. It always felt a little wrong when she looked at herself without a green tint to her skin. She could simply will it away as needed to maintain a more human appearance, but seldom did. Would anyone even recognize me in costume without it, or just assume that I'm some cosplayer? Ivy tilted her head, long red locks put back in a professional bun. Probably the latter. Not that she was wearing her costume to Pamela Isley's tentative foray into the adult industry, of course.

The hair matched the clothes, and the clothes matched the shoes: a cardigan, a blouse, slim-fitting jeans and low pumps that looked good without impairing her movement. Taking a page out of Clark Kent's secret identity playbook, she had donned a pair of librarian-esque glasses. Makeup wasn't something she bothered with often, but since it was what he'd be expecting out of an everyday woman, she had touched her eyes and lips up a tad. Over one shoulder she had her purse, and her camera was hanging from the lanyard that kept it on her neck. Ivy had figured he would want to see her equipment and if not, it'd be a way to show him she knew her shit beyond the 'portfolio' she had thrown together.

It really should have been in its own bag, but Ivy hadn't been able to find it before ducking out of her apartment. "Alright. Let's do this," Ivy murmured to herself, willing her nervousness away: for some godforsaken reason, her first job interview in fifteen years was encouraging more butterflies than the culmination of a scheme that the Bat crew were sure to take an interest in. She turned, stepped up to the door and knocked gently.

A moment later, the door opened, and… the pictures didn't do Troy justice. They didn't make him look bad, but half of his immediate allure came from the way he moved. Casual, but purposeful, each movement smooth and practiced without seeming rehearsed. Before becoming a stunt cock (which soon led into being a superstar cock), he had been a professional model. "Pamela, hey. Thanks for coming," he said with a smile, reaching out with the hand that opened the door to offer her a handshake.

"Thanks for having me," Ivy replied after a beat, forcing herself to smile back without obvious admiration for the African-American adonis. Maybe it was just that she had been on a long, long dry spell, but he was breathtaking to her. Already, she could feel a hot clench between her thighs. Is this what it feels like to get hit by my pheromones? Fuck. She slipped her gracile digits into his larger, stronger hand. The firm shake he gave her was respectful, yet also promising in certain respects.

"Please, right this way," Troy said as the shake ended and he stepped back. It was then that they both noticed what the other was toting, their comment immediate enough to warrant a jinx, were they superstitious. "What's with the–"

"–camera?" Ivy asked. His other hand was holding a camcorder, already recording. That puzzled her as much as he was puzzled over hers. After an awkward laugh on both their parts, he turned it off. Then the two of them got down to brass tacks to figure out their misunderstanding: her sitting on a black leather couch in his 'office', and him sitting on the desk, fingers clasped between his knees. Most pertinent to Ivy were the potted plants– the wilting orchids outside the door were the superintendent's problem, but the ones in Troy's office were vibrant, thriving even. He might not have had a green thumb, but he knew how to garden.

Ivy liked that. Ivy liked a lot about Troy from the moment they met. Yet she did not like the inevitable conclusion of their short discussion on the nature of their misunderstanding: "Okay, so. I see where you got mixed up. The ad you answered is for a casting couch shoot," he told her, "but it needs to be phrased in a certain way to stay within the scope of Craigslist's terms of service."

"A casting couch shoot," Ivy repeated.

"Yeah," Troy confirmed with an apologetic smile. "Shooting one. And not, uh, for a photographer."

"Oh." Ivy was quiet, shifting her weight minutely on the leather couch. Both her purse and camera were set down on the far side of it, and she sat with her legs crossed. With an absent flick of her tongue that inadvertently emphasized the generous swell of her lips, she then asked, "What does that entail, exactly?" Considering that she already knew the answer, it was a stupid question. Ivy was fine with that– she knew better than anyone else that horny people often did stupid things.

And while she herself was a unique anomaly amongst humankind, she was still human. She was horny. She was allowed to be a little stupid– albeit with sly motive.

Troy's brows twitched with a hint of a furrow, but he kept his smile up and sat up somewhat, parting his hands to gesture at his camcorder and the several others behind him, mounted on tripods to capture the room's action from various angles. "First, a bit of chatter. Sometimes a few minutes, sometimes up to twenty. Usually it's about who you are, what you've done, what you're comfortable with. Then I get my interviewee to undress and show herself off a bit." Ivy nodded along, her expression betraying nothing but curiosity for him to continue. "Things get more fluid and less formulaic from there."

"How so?" Ivy inquired, reaching up to remove her glasses. She folded them, slipping a case out of her cardigan to tuck them into.

"Depends on the chemistry I have with the interviewee. If I have anyone else assisting me, that kind of thing," Troy explained, rolling a wrist and turning a palm over in gesture. "Masturbation, manual or with a toy. Oral sex on either side of the equation. Vaginal and anal sex…"

"Unscripted sex, basically," Ivy slid in at that pause.

"Yeah. Listen, I'm really sorry for the misunderstanding," Troy said, starting to slip down from his perch. "This has never happened to me before– and believe me, that's not something I've ever said before," he added with a quick wink. Ivy favored him with a silent smile as he continued. "It's hard to get started in this biz, and I know what a struggle it can be. I'll pay you for coming out and maybe see if I can find someone who needs a cameraman."

"Woman," Ivy corrected lightly.

Troy blinked, then chuckled. "That hasn't, either. Sorry. Just give me one sec–" he said as his shoes hit the carpeted floor, turning towards the safe half-hidden behind his desk.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you," Ivy spoke up before he could take another step. "The misunderstanding, that was real," she clarified… for both him and herself. In retrospect, it was incredibly stupid of her to misread the job advertisement. It wasn't particularly coy, and there was really no reason a prospective employer would need to see a picture of her. But that was just her being horny, even then. The pictures didn't do Troy justice, but they were enough to get her interested in him.

"What do you mean?" the adonis asked, turning back to face her with a puzzled frown.

"I came out here to… test the waters, so to speak. I wasn't seriously intending to take a job, even if you offered me one," Ivy said, uncrossing her legs and rising slowly. Even in heels, her height was just above average, her redhead no higher than Troy's shoulders. She took a slow, hip-swaying step towards him, green eyes lifting to meet his brown gaze without a hint of penitence, despite the confession. "A friend got me curious, and I'm at a bit of a personal crossroads."

Troy's frown started to fade away. He clearly knew a moment when he was in the midst of one. Whatever thoughts were in his head, he straightened, allowing Ivy to both continue her explanation and her approach.

When she stopped, she was a foot away from him. Ivy lifted a hand to rest its palm against the flat of his chest, fingers curling lightly against the pec-hugging shirt he wore. "Since I'm already here, you should go ahead and interview me," she said in no uncertain terms, her head slanting slightly as she studied his chiseled features with lidding eyes. The implications were obvious subtext, practically shouted out. She wasn't just saying interview me.

She was saying since I'm already here, you should fuck me. Troy stepped into Ivy's space as she tugged on his shirt, leaning in and down to her without any urging. Ivy slipped her hand up along his shirt and over his shoulder, clasping him as she pressed herself up against his body. Their kiss was intimate from the get-go despite the two being total strangers to one another. Ivy knew that for him, kissing women like he'd been in love with them for years was just part of the job– just as she knew that for her? She hadn't fucked in years, and he was hot enough that she wasn't going to throw away the chance. His professional passion only added to her arousal, their tongues playing like old friends.

"Did you bring your own equipment? Or at least your paperwork?" Troy asked as he pulled away, voice low, hands on Ivy's ass through the seat of her jeans.

"Yeah, my camera is just over there, remember?" Ivy murmured, leaning in to run her cheek along his short beard, lips grazing an amorous trail along his cheek.

"I mean condoms or proof of an STI check," Troy explained in that same sexy bedroom voice, hastening the leak of Ivy's pussy until those unsexy words sank in for her. She paused, then began to pull back, both of her hands parking on his chest as she stared up at him.

"Condoms or an STI check," she repeated blankly, which… made sense, now that she knew what he really expected of her. What didn't make sense, though… "You… don't have condoms. You're shooting pornography but don't have condoms on hand."

Troy shrugged with a somewhat sheepish smirk. "I don't like to use them."

Neither do I, Ivy thought to herself, but she didn't voice the thought. Instead, she decided to rip off a band-aid that probably would have come off when they got down to business– or when the video of her 'interview' hit the web, and someone recognized her features and correctly accused Pamela Isley of being Poison Ivy in disguise. "I'm immune to disease."

Troy laughed at that, though when Ivy's face remained serious, it died away. "Listen, you're a beautiful woman and I'd love to go further than this with you, but if you didn't bring protection or paperwork, I can't do this. Even if you are 'immune' to disease," he said with obvious disbelief.

So Ivy dropped the facade. Her fair skin began to fill in, a uniform pale green that spread more quickly than a chameleon changing colors. "Does this count as paperwork?" she asked Troy. There was nothing sheepish about the smirk she showed him. Pamela was out, and Poison was back in.

He was wordless, stunned by her, but Ivy didn't harbor any worry of her sudden reveal turning him off. They were already standing close enough that his cock was pushing against her, clothes be damned. Without looking away from his eyes, she slowly dragged one hand down his chest and stomach, beginning to trace the stiff lump of a tent pitched down along his leg. Even so hidden from her eye and cloaked from her touch, it was…

… What the fuck. Ivy was glad for the shocked silence pervading the room: his open-book expression as she groped his erection made it far easier for her to hide her shock. What little she had seen of his work had not done his cock justice, either. She figured most of its exaggerated size in video was camera angles and lenses, but now that she was feeling him up? Unless he were stuffing his underwear, Ivy was about to redefine her conception of what it meant for a man to be well-hung.

"... well?" Ivy asked in a sensuous whisper, dragging her fingertip back up along his shaft. "Does it?" she wondered, a moment away from releasing the pheromones that would make her utterly irresistible to him. She didn't want to do that to him. Not without his knowledge, but the temptation was there.

"Yeah," Troy finally found his voice, steady and deep. Though he now knew whose ass he grasped, he wasn't reacting with panic. "I think it does. But if we do this, you're not getting any special treatment," he told her, giving her clutched ass a firm squeeze. Ivy arched her back to push herself against his hands, not blinking as laid out the terms. "You get paid the same as any other woman would… and I'm going to fuck you just like I would any other woman."

Ivy only smiled. "Do you want a do-over?" she asked him, her decision made. When he nodded, she pushed against his chest and strutted from the room without saying another word. Not that there wasn't another noise– he made sure to get a parting slap across her ass, as good as an cuss-laden exclamation of excitement. She stepped out.

A minute later, she knocked on the door again. Though thick, the door did not block out his deep voice as he approached to let her in, talking to the camcorder. "Got a special treat for you guys today. This isn't going to be like any other video I've ever shot… or any other video you've ever seen. We're dropping all pretense today. What you see is going to be the real deal, no acting."

Ivy smirked to herself, resting a hand on her hip while she waited for him to turn the knob. He has no idea how true those words are. Troy did not rush his big reveal, pulling the door open slowly to reveal the woman he was set to interview, who wore nothing but that smirk.

"Shit," Troy mumbled in awe. Ivy's clothes simply laid on the hallway's floor, forming a shapeless puddle but for the rigidity of her removed pumps.

It was an impetuous decision, one Ivy made as she left Troy behind, but one she committed to despite the thin chance of someone catching her in the buff. The surprise on his features was worth it, but the sheer hunger he had for her flesh– that would have been worth the exposure. Not that it mattered now if someone caught her in an immodest state: she rather liked the thought of men and women alike masturbating to footage of her getting fucked. Not exactly a sudden development for her, really– Ivy had been dressing provocatively for as long as she had been a villain, and was not unaware of how people lusted for her. The greenery she usually wore as a costume was revealing, but also obscured enough of her shape to leave those who gazed upon her hungry for more.

For almost a full minute, she remained steady in her pose, allowing the camera and Troy both to soak in her raw beauty. Full-figured did not encapsulate her femininity; full-figured alone would spill over. Ivy was a modern-day fertility goddess in the flesh, and she knew it. Weighty yet surprisingly high on her chest, her breasts were much more than a handful for any hand smaller than Troy's. The deep pink color of her nipples helped them in their call for attention: not something they begged for, but something they demanded, stiff and sized appropriately for the areolae that seated them. That impressive size should have been too much for her slim waist and lean, graceful limbs, but her hips balanced them out with their mesmerizing width. Her confident stance kept her legs apart and hid no aspect of the garden that would normally be tucked away and out of sight.

It was all natural down there, but Ivy didn't think of a little gardening as an unnatural thing. The trim strip of red hair atop her pussy was no wider than its outer folds, and was really the only modest part about her proudly displayed nudity. Ivy's pale green skin was noticeably darker around her sex, slick with obvious dew. Though small, it wasn't some petite, princess-like pussy that shyly kept everything tucked away until it was time to come out and play. The confidence of her cunt's lips was hand-in-hand with her brazen show of arousal, and she made sure Troy didn't move the camera's focus from it.

There was a lot to appreciate about her supple thighs and long legs, but Ivy's fingers ventured down to her cunt, preluding a deliberate spread and display of her inner pink with a stroke along her slit and the littlest roll of a touch against her clit. "I'm here for my interview, Troy," she said, her voice falling easily into her old seductress act. If he wasn't already hard, her alluring tone would have. And if it hadn't, Ivy's subsequent utterance was undeniable to any warm-blooded male. "And for your big, black cock."

They were just the words Troy needed to push him into action, pushing past his need to admire Ivy. "Yeah?" he asked in a low growl as he stepped out of the condo, reaching one hand out for her. Ivy knew right away where his hand was going; not for her pussy but straight for her hair. Long and vibrant with eye-catching color, she was used to her opponents trying to grab it; Troy was the first man that she allowed to do it. Her smirk didn't fall away as he pulled on it and brought her close, sultry and sure of the dicking she would soon be receiving. "Have you been with a black man before, Poison Ivy?"

"You're going to be my first. Just like I'm going to be your first green pussy," Ivy purred back in tease, just two steps away from being brought into the condo. Yet Troy made no effort to bring her inside and away from the possibility of someone overhearing or peeking in on them; he twisted his grip in her hair and pushed down lightly on her shoulder. Even before he spoke his instructions to her, Ivy began to sink down to her knees. She was far from a prude. Back when she used her pheromones constantly, she had gotten used to slutting it up in whatever form a man's desire took. Surrendering control was not the same as submission to her.

"Show me how excited you are," Troy demanded. "And show all my viewers how much of a slut you are."

You want me to suck your cock in the doorway, hm? There was room for interpretation in his demand, and Ivy decided to give Troy what he wanted in a far more lurid form. Her hands went out to his body and dragged down as she got on her knees, coming to rest low on his thighs rather than worry about his fly. "It's been two years since I fucked anyone," she murmured up at the camera; two years where she figured she might end up with Harley. Since her best friend and Greg were obviously going to last… "Until I met you, I didn't know how much I needed a dick," she teased, holding Troy's eye. She brought her face to his crotch, then nuzzled along the path already blazed by her fingers, following his hidden shaft far down his thigh.

When she found its tip, Ivy shamelessly covered it with her mouth, one little suckle begetting one little drag of her tongue against him. That far down his thigh, it was just denim between his cock and her mouth. She could feel his warmth and could feel the leak of his pre-cum, just as he would feel the dampness she imparted upon his pants. From perusing just a pittance of his thousands of scenes, she knew he was circumcised; no foreskin got in her way.

"... Shit," Troy grunted, surprised again. He threaded his grip deeper into her hair, palm against her head. The inward push of his hand was anything but subtle in its encouragement, and Ivy took heed. She gripped his thighs for support while dragging her lips back up along his shaft, occasionally pausing to kiss and suck at the side of his shaft through it. He stayed steady, the camcorder capturing every moment of Ivy once again slutting it up. "Bet you could make a guy cum through his pants. And I bet you'd just as happily suck his cum out of the fabric, wouldn't you?" Ivy answered him with a wordless hum. The next question would need a bit more articulation: "What's the biggest cock you've ever sucked?"

He wants inches, Ivy knew, pulling back just a fraction while massaging his thighs through the denim. Again, however, there was room for interpretation: there was room for her to give him more than what he asked for. "Let's just say you've got a bigger cock than Bane or Batman," she told him, the honest truth once more. Bane's venom didn't impact his size where it mattered most, and Batman wasn't always prepared for her involvement in criminal enterprises. "And I bet you fuck harder than they do, too," Ivy added, before beginning another run of her tongue over his cock.

It was not to be. "Damn," Troy murmured as he backpedaled away from her, letting her fingers flow through her hair until he was gripping its end. "You've been around the old rogue's gallery once or twice, haven't you? Come on."

I doubt his audience would like me pointing out that he's as much of a slut as I am, Ivy thought, just smirking up at Troy. He didn't need to order her to crawl, it was just what felt natural for her to do– slow and languid, tits swaying, hips shifting. Having a stranger treat her hair as a leash was no more bothersome to her than worshiping his cock before his pants came off. When he dropped her hair and slipped around to film her from behind, she continued through the condo, already knowing where his 'office'– his little set –would be. Though she didn't move any slower or faster, Ivy did throw a roll of her hips into her crawl's pace, both jiggling her plant-booty at him and ensuring the camera caught glimpses of her waiting holes.

No part of her was a stranger to cock. Had Ivy realized she was being stupid and horny when she was prepping for this 'interview', she might have taken the time to properly prepare for his cock splitting her dark green asshole wide open. If it seemed like things were going to go that way, she could prepare with the use of her powers, but she had a feeling he wouldn't go shoving himself in any dark caves without prompting.

"Look at how juicy that cunt is," he said from behind Ivy, with a low whistle. Ivy's smirk grew. Just shy of crawling into the room where Troy made his magic happen, he tugged on the end with enough force to pull her short. Almost to lift her palms off the ground, in fact, but for the fact he swooped down right thereafter kept her on all fours. Then her hair was released, and…

"And that–" She heard the impact of his broad hand across her bottom before she felt its sting, sharp as the resounding clap it made. The confident smirk on the red-haired half-plant babe's face slipped as she gasped out at it, shoulders tightening inward and lifting. "–Fucking ass, look at that."

He didn't let it go. His fingers squeezed into the curve of her stinging ass cheek like it was trying to pop an inordinately large piece of bubble wrap. Or… maybe he will go for it after all, Ivy bit briefly at the swell of her bottom lip, her derriere tensing reactively. Once again, she moved her hips with an unabashed desire, pushing her ass back towards him and taking advantage of her released hair to glance over one rounded shoulder at him. "Are we going to make it into the office before you stick that fat cock inside of me?" she asked him with wanton utterance. "Do you need me so much that you're going to fuck me in a doorway, down on the floor?"

"God, I'm in love with her," Troy laughed, before giving another slap across her eminently spankable ass. Rather than give her other cheek a clap to match the flush starting on the first, he doubled-down on the one he abused. This time, Ivy was expecting it– but she didn't let it stop her from uttering a lewd groan in wordless reply. The second that the momentary reactionary stiffness flowed out of her, she began to spread her knees, hands sliding across the floor to bow her chest low. A raise of her hips, and the soaking wet fertile cunt was being offered up to Troy on a green platter.

"A lot of men have said that to me over the years," Ivy teased back, her head dipping once her breasts were brushing across the floor. She lost sight of Troy, but she could feel and hear him keenly as he continued to move. He released her ass and set the camcorder down somewhere it could presumably catch whatever he was doing. "But you're the only one with a dick big enough to make me think I might fall in love with you, too," she prodded him, wiggling her hips to give her ass another tempting sway. The walls of her cunt tightened of their own volition, tight enough that she put her mind to relaxing her kegels in anticipation of being promptly stuck with his cock.

The camcorder slid across the floor, and Ivy turned her green eyes towards it: it wasn't going to capture what he was doing, but rather her expression. She bit at the corner of her painted bottom lip while smiling towards it, not hiding her eagerness from the all-seeing lens. She didn't hear him unbuckle or unzip, and nothing hit the floor.

"You might want my dick, but you're not going to get it until you're begging for it," Troy told her firmly, his large hands gentle yet stern as they went to her shoulder blades, dragging down along the taut skin of her back alongside her spine. Ivy chewed on her lip, eyes beginning to lid. She could feel little goosebumps spreading in the wake of his touch, which first paused where her waist flowed into her wide hips. There he gripped her, rough and completely uncompromising for just a moment. Ivy could imagine the moment he penetrated her with crystal clarity: him pulling her back into a similar thrust, going deeper inside her than any other man had. At least ten inches of cock delving far into her twat… no, probably at least twelve.

"When I fuck your pussy," Troy said more quietly but without any less dominance, "it's going to be because I've driven you insane. It's going to be because my cumming on my cock is the only thing that will make you whole again," he promised her, releasing her hips. His fingers dragged a bit further, then left her skin altogether– there Ivy took a breath, not even realizing she had started to hold it. A fretful squirm of her hips begged for his return, missing his touch the second it left, but it was always going to come back: both of his hands struck across her ass at once, not from above but from the bottom down.

Ivy yelped and stirred, but immediately her hips moved to put her ass back in position, in want of another. For a moment, the camcorder's lens caught eyes as they lost focus, though her confident smirk came back as they sharpened. The former supervillain's slightly-parted lips let out a soft moan, utterly unashamed. Without looking back at Troy she dared to ask, "How do you think you're going to do that? You might have a bigger cock than the man who broke the bat, but I'm the one who makes men lose their minds–"

"A sexy bitch like you who hasn't been fucked for two years?" Troy's tone was as confident as Ivy's smirk, and smug to boot. "Easily. In less than two minutes, you're going to be begging my name," he promised her. Ivy scoffed with disbelief. Rather than spank her again, he spread her already parted ass wider and leaned in, his trim beard faintly tickling at her thighs as he brought his lips towards her pussy. His warm breath against her damp folds made those lips twitched as he softly asked, "You fuck yourself with your plants, don't you? That's what everyone thinks."

"So… what if I do?" Ivy asked, her voice breathy. She had every intention of enjoying whatever it was he did to her– but if he thought a bit of oral teasing would get her begging mindlessly for his cock, he would be in for a rude awakening.

"They've got nothing on authentic cock… or a tongue, for that matter. But when I tell you to use them… you use them, however I tell you to," Troy told Ivy. Before she could reply, he was kissing her vertical lips with his horizontal mouth. The passionate professionalism that he showed in his kiss to her lips had been promising and it had made it so very easy for Ivy to commit to her lurid path. She felt it again, but their prior lip-lock was comparatively constrained. It was two-sided, respectful, well aware of what Ivy could have done to him if she was displeased with his kiss. It was a kiss between equals, of a sort.

"... fuck," Ivy found herself whimpering with worrying quickness. The kiss now on her lower lips was not two-sided. It was not respectful; he was kissing her pussy like he owned it, and the fact Ivy did nothing but curl her fingers into fists against the floor affirmed it. For the moment, he did. Troy didn't rush for her clit, but rather kept himself on her lips, teasing over them with the tip of his tongue in what Ivy identified as a test: he was seeing what got the strongest reaction out of her and then doubling down. Any move that got her hips squirming, he repeated, making a pattern of them. Although her green eyes affixed on the camcorder's lens, it was clear she was no longer looking at it.

It was simply where her eyes were when Troy took command of her pussy and ripped away her ability to focus on anything but his tongue. He's– right about that, she thought distractedly, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to reach beneath herself to start rubbing her clit. That would only help him further his dominance over her, and she was set on keeping control in the form of her willing submission. This– is better than a vine tentacle. No one but Harley knew that they were her preferred method of masturbation; everyone else just made a joke of it as low-hanging fruit.

She definitely preferred his cocky tongue on her cunt's lips. Warm, moist, acting on his will rather than her own– just grinding on a tentacle had nothing on what he was doing to her. Soon, though, Troy introduced a new element to his oral ravishment, thumbs inching inward to push down alongside her cunt's lips and spread it wider, exposing her vulnerable pink intimacy to his tongue. There, he continued the pattern he adopted on her slit; an up-down flick of his tongue followed by a zig that then zagged back, then a down-up flick and a circular lave. "... fuuuuck," Ivy's whimpering continued, deeper and not particularly verbose.

Some of her prior seductions had gone down on her, either by her command or by a man simply dying for a taste of her pussy. It had never gotten her across the finish line; her command over her body's physiology was such that she could fake an orgasm as needed, if she didn't want to make them fuck her on the spot. Just a minute into Troy's tongue play, though, Ivy could see it coming down the line. And she could see why he had been in such great demand in the porn world, along with why he had such wild success in the independent sphere: he wasn't just good on camera. He was just fucking good.

Ivy didn't try to convince herself otherwise. As her toes started to curl, the truth was plain as healthy grass was green and an unpolluted sky was blue: he was going to make good on his threat… his promise. She, Poison Ivy, infamous femme fatale, was going to be begging for his cock before long. And that was as delightful to her as it was worrying. "Troy," she moaned out thickly, her clenched fists restlessly pushing down against the office's floor on the other side of the doorway. "Troy, Troy, please–"

"Fuck your face with one of your tentacles. Take it down your throat," Troy murmured against her pussy without missing a beat. Ivy acted with the same immediacy, not even thinking about it: she didn't order the plants to do what he said so much as she ordered the plants to listen to him, to do as they wished. If not for the fact he treated them well, it wouldn't have worked– but each of the potted plants in his very green office were fond of him indeed. They reacted as if Troy's order to Ivy was a request from her, and leaning on her power, they could do extraordinary things.

A lone stalk sprouted from the nearest plant's pot, shooting outward and growing both longer and girthier at supernatural speeds. Troy didn't let it distract him; he seemed to have dedicated his full focus to teasing Ivy's cunt, just as it demanded her whole being to enjoy. Her moaning mouth was already open for it as it neared, as thick as she figured Troy's cock to be but smooth, lacking the definition and texture his flesh would have. Faintly green fluid oozed from its tip, lubricating its way- slightly sugary plant food that Ivy often enjoyed, but paid no mind to now as it shoved along her tongue.

Her gag reflex was well-trained. Before she became Poison Ivy, she was something of an oral aficionado– there was no greater pleasure to Pamela Isley than using her femininity and skill to drive larger men wild, to make them mad with lust for her. With the power she now possessed over her own physiology and biochemistry, it was redoubled. Practically unneeded, in fact, considering she could breathe through the pores of her skin. As the tentacle ran into her throat, though, she didn't keep it fully suppressed. Her throat tightened and rippled around the invader length as it began to briskly fuck it.

In Ivy's mind, it was an extension of Troy's cock. She did not quite recognize why he wanted it until she was desperate to wail out for his dick, but could make nothing more than wanton grunts and groans. Her tentacle's sole purpose was to rob Ivy of her voice. She was begging for him, and he knew it– he chuckled against her pussy as they started! –but he couldn't hear them. Vexed and frustrated, Ivy began to squirm, her nearing orgasm turning it into a shuddersome dance without dignity. With how her fists pounded the floor and how her feet kicked, she may as well have been having a tantrum.

And just as Troy said, it was within two minutes. Two minutes of toying with Ivy with nothing more than his hands and tongue, and he had taken the control Ivy offered willfully to him; now it was his to do with as he pleased, and in no way could Ivy take it back. She did not want it back, though– she just wanted his cock. She just wanted to cum. One or the other, or both, but–

Troy stopped short of letting her cum. "More, now," he whispered as he kissed against the inner curve of her ass. "Wrap yourself in them. Hold yourself down with them," he ordered her. For an ordinary civilian, he adapted with striking ease to taking a dominant role over a metahuman; the plants reacted just as they did prior, five plants offering sprouts that shot out, thickening as they grew. Each one went to a different limb. The two that seized her wrists forced her arms to stretch straight and planted them firmly against the floor, mirrored at her ankles. The fifth tentacle, the sixth total, did not wrap around her waist, but it still pushed powerfully against the small of her back, pinning her hips.

Prone, helpless. Completely helpless by her own power turned against her, and the camcorder caught it all. It caught how her eyes were rolling back, tearing up in a show of overwhelmed pleasure; it caught the dark and aroused flush of her cheeks as the tentacle continued to pump in and out of her throat, large enough that a hint of a bulge could be seen along her otherwise graceful neck's throat. Just a few more moments, and she was going to cum. After two years without another person involved in her sex life, it was going to be amazing–

But Troy didn't resume licking her pussy. That vexed Ivy, and she fought the poor plants that were just doing what she had told them to do, struggling to toss them off so she could do anything. She yelled at them in the language only they spoke, wordless, yet they did not listen. They knew she meant none of the things she was saying; they knew this was what she wanted of them. Ivy's near-hysterics only calmed as Troy's kissing lips crept inward along her ass, finding the tight pucker of her asshole and teasing over it with the same lustful experimentation that made her pussy go so wild.

He was just as good with one hole as the other, but it wasn't what had been pushing Ivy towards an orgasm, and that was clearly the point. He was edging her. The tears started to run down along her cheeks, dragging and smudging the hint of mascara she had lined her eyes with, a sign of all the conflicting and strong emotions roiling inside Ivy. She was desperate to cum, but she was enjoying the drag-out. She knew all the teasing would lead to a more potent finish, but it had been two years and this close to cumming, her impatience knew no bounds!

The rimming rooted her path to pleasure more quickly than his tongue teasing her pink; Ivy's ass was no stranger to cock, but her asshole was not used to being treated so lavishly. Just as tongue rarely got her off, anything related to her backdoor was a stepping stone. She normally enjoyed it, but it didn't take her the distance. Yet Troy's skill was undeniable: she creeped back up towards an orgasm, her futile squirms renewed. Once again, he stopped just a lick away from sending Ivy's pussy into full bloom and moved on. The vine ravishing her throat muffled her breathless shriek of indignation.

FUCKING FUCK ME. FUCKING MAKE ME CUM, YOU BASTARD. I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO MURDER YOU or maybe not, that's not so bad– Troy trailed kisses up along Ivy's ass, his hands massaging along her back and sides as he went. It eased her frustrations, but only just a tad. She was still in dire need of him inside her, or at least an orgasm– just a little one, it didn't have to be the big one, brain-breaking one that she had originally felt. Just a tiny one would satisfy her.

Only four minutes, and he had her in such a wretched state: it might have actually made Ivy feel a bit ashamed of herself, if she was paying any attention to time. But now she could only measured the progression of their fuck by his movements. Troy simply brushed the back-pinning vine tentacle away when it was in his path, following the faint ridge of Ivy's spine with his trail of kisses. When his lips were nearing her nape, he brushed her hair out of the way and kissed it like she was an old lover, kneading her tense shoulders. "You're ready to kill me, aren't you? You want this cock so bad," he taunted her, before putting his lips to her ear. "You whore."

Between being prone and having some fifteen inches of plant life constantly boring down her throat, Ivy couldn't even nod. She tried, but her neck had to conform to the shape of the thing inside of it. Troy just chuckled quietly at her, working his way right back down along her spine. Her asshole twitched with hope, but went neglected; her pussy fluttered with desire, but he ignored that too. After a single kiss placed just between the two, Troy's hands lifted from her. Both unhappy holes repeated their cock-summoning ritual dance when they heard him tugging at his belt, felt him shifting to remove his jeans…

His t-shirt, belt and jeans all dropped on her back, each one a promise to her. With nothing pinning her back anymore, Ivy could lift her hips; she lifted and pushed her ass back again as much as she was able, presenting her holes once more. Her pussy was sodden in its wetness, and though his saliva along her asshole only made for a faint gleam, its twitch declared it ready too. Finally– Ivy thought to herself, her eyes closing, her lips almost grinning despite the wide spread the stifling vine forced upon them.

Troy straddled her thighs. His strong hands pushed her ass down, but kept it spread for the cock that was sure to fill her in one thrust. Though Ivy tried to relax for him, she couldn't help but tense up in preparation for him– her body wanted to fight, it wanted to make him roughly fight for every one of those double-digit inches that wanted to fill her. She was ready to sob with ecstasy when his engorged crown was finally rubbing against her dew-laden petals, but he did nothing more than that there, as if gathering her slickness– was he further lubing himself for her ass? Please, yes, make me cum from fucking my ass, Ivy thought eagerly, words she would have screamed out if only he allowed her to do so.

But he only prodded her there, teasing a reaming that never came. "You're not yet far gone enough to need my cock," Troy growled down at her softly, Ivy's fraught expression showing her anguish and frustration. "But I'll give you a taste of getting fucked by me." And yet, she still wanted him: they were well past the point where his teasing was reasonable, but she still wanted him. With a brush of his hand, Troy slid his clothing off of Ivy's back, then pressed his shaft between the lush green valley formed by her ass' parting. Were his cock smaller, her bottom might have hidden his length once he squeezed it around him– but the prestigious, legendary cock was such that it could not be fully encompassed by them.

Troy was the first man to taste her ass, and he was the first man to fuck its cheeks, too. And it was almost enough to make Ivy cum, in the end– his weighty balls were partially pushing against her cunt with every rut of his hips, and she was worked up enough that just their heat and wrinkles were as good as a slotted finger. The camcorder caught Ivy's eyes rolling back again, an almost serene slacking taking over her expression. Had she the mind to look around, she might have noticed that the whole act was being caught– the camera on the ceiling suggested she wasn't the first woman to get fucked in Troy's hallway.

But deep in her gut, she knew that she was the only woman he had ever done this to. Ivy knew he was toying with her, almost torturing her with lust. He was making an example out of her; their unplanned sex scene would make a statement on his skill and virility. And for all her agitation, Ivy was loving it. She kept loving it even when jealousy ripped through her maddened lust, sparked by Troy beginning to cum across her back a handful of moments before his bumping ball sack would have popped her off. Each spurt of his cock lined her back with his thick spunk, markings of possession she felt a lurid pride in possessing.

It did not cross Ivy's mind that she could have just made herself orgasm. In the end, it was a chemical reaction to physical stimuli, and Ivy had caused that chemical reaction within herself in the past on a whim. Ivy wanted it. She wanted him to keep going, to only stop when he deemed it appropriate for her to finish, even with proof of his finish on her skin. Though the vines were restricting her movement, the tremors of pleasure and envy running throughout Ivy were enough to spring sweat on her skin, giving it a certain shine in the condo's lighting.

"Bring yourself into the office," Troy ordered Ivy, his voice satisfied yet not content to stop there. "Suspended below my waist's height, limbs akimbo." As the vines started to drag her across the floor, he gave her thrice-spanked ass cheek another clap. She shuddered; as the potted plants moved her, the vine repeatedly thrusting through her throat adjusted, never relenting. By the time that Troy was moving into position over her, his cock was already hard again. His thighs enclosed her sides around her sternum, and she longed to look up and see it, to finally have a direct view of the dick destined to end her dry spell.

The vine fucking her mouth kept her neck straight as it could be, head cocked back. All Ivy could see was the wall that bore the plant's pot; her long red hair hung in waves towards the floor, still a semblance of tidy and straight. But it was enough for her to feel Troy as he put himself in position. Unlike her ass, her breasts were large enough to fully hide his shaft once he squeezed them around his manhood. His palms deliberately pushed down against her nipples in the process, sending little jolts through her body that kept her toes curled as he got down to business. Again he was fucking her, but this time there was no contact with her pussy– all she had was the stimulation rendered upon her tits. They had never been so sensitive that a lover could get her off through playing with them–

But no one had ever really taken control so completely from Ivy, either. As he fucked her tits, her libido clung on to what he gave her: it was enough! It had to be enough. Anything he offered her would take her the distance, if only she was allowed to get enough of it. Troy was neither slow nor gentle in how he plowed her awe-inspiring cleavage and aside from the shaking necessitated by her building orgasm, Ivy was in a constant state of swaying and swinging in her suspension. By the time Troy finished again, something he did without shame, her red tresses no longer had any neatness to them. It added to her chaotic, disorderly appearance with her streaking mascara and wild hunger for his cock.

Some of his cum still clung to her back, scattered from its small to her shoulders. On her chest, however, he kept his load on top of her tits, another lurid marking– just for the sake of the porn they were making together, of course. He had taken control, but he had no real claim to Ivy.

At least until he took her body again. The vines continued to restrict Ivy, carrying her over to the couch on his command, legs splayed and arms tucked behind her back. He brushed the tentacle away from her lips as he stepped up on the black leather. As she sucked in her first unimpeded breath through her airway in some twenty minutes, Troy stepped up to the proverbial bat, his cock thrust in her face: limp, but as much a shower as a grower. "Don't say a word if you want this in your pussy," he told her as he grabbed hold of her red head, as much for the sake of his own stability as keeping her steady. "Just suck," he told her, hips pressing forth to present her with his spent cock.

For a moment, Ivy simply marveled at it with lust-hazed eyes. It was as lovely a cock as she figured it would be from her denim-impeded worship. Rather than finally beg out loud for him to take her, Ivy moved her head forth and took his head past her lips, rolling her tongue over him with lewd abandon. After two orgasms, he was a mess, damp with her sweat and teased-out arousal, to say nothing of his precum. She took the curl of his fingers into her hair as tacit approval of her initial foray and continued, eyes angled to meet him. Ivy was not able to continue at pace, however: she needed his cock. She needed it hard. She needed it fucking her, and she could not keep herself from becoming a feral maenad for him.

Deeper and deeper she took him, all frenzied tongue and starved suckles. Harder and harder he became, and with impressive quickness– less than a minute of Ivy's mouth got him half-erect, whereupon he took over from her without warning. Ivy grunted around him as he thrusted into her throat, surprised but hardly discouraged: like the good, submissive slut he made her into, she gladly took what he gave her. Almost twenty straight minutes of getting face-fucked by a plant had prepared her for him.

The one shame to it all was that she couldn't get off from him blitzing her throat with his big black cock. Ivy adored it all the same; there was still something special about feeling his cock brutishly pillage her throat's tube, his sweaty balls constantly battering against her chin. After being teased and edged so thoroughly, just being able to watch him as he used her body felt like a reward in and of itself, throat fighting his thick prick every inch of the way. When it came time for him to nut again, she received no special warning; he simply pulled out after a hard hilting and made another mess on her skin, a prodigious volume of cum clinging to her face by its end.

It was only then that Ivy could roughly whisper what she had been trying to tell him for nearly thirty minutes; it didn't feel like he had been fucking her face for fifteen minutes, not even close. If anything, it felt too short, but that didn't change her sentiment, her desire, her mindless need. "Fuck me, Troy. Make me cum with that cock, please, fuck me like the slut I am," she beseeched him. He did not reply, nor did he acknowledge her: he only presented her with his cock again. And again, Ivy sicced herself upon it like nothing else in the world mattered to her. At least while he had her, while he owned her, nothing else did.

Troy didn't take over again. Not until he was fully erect and Ivy was moaning pitifully around him, only further moored from the rest of Earth-16 for every moment that passed without cumming. It was then that he slid himself back from her mouth and began to lower himself, kneeling between the spread of her splayed and restrained legs. "Please, don't tease me again, please fuck me, please put it in my pussy, please fuck me–" she mumbled vapidly, longing to reach out and grasp at him or wrap her legs around him; the vines remained steady, however.

Ivy did not.

He moved his hand to guide himself, and then thrusted once, and then he was in her. Not his entire cock at once– her cunt was too tight for that –but it was enough. It was what she had been longing for. He didn't even fill her, but he completed her. Ivy let out a choked gasp, shuddering and groaning, shoulders rolling and back arching sharply. She could make no other movements beyond tightening her fingers into fists and locking her toes tight into their curl, though she tried. Ivy tried so desperately to move in other ways, thrashing like Harley did when she was allowed to go into a 'break shit' room in full body armor, but the vines would never let her go. Then Troy thrusted up into her again, and…

It still wasn't his entire cock. But it was enough. All that edged, stolen-away ecstasy hurtled through Ivy's body, spasms rocking her body. Any control she might have had over her kegels went away with an explosion of contractions that seemed like they would never stop. The long, low keening that began to pour out of her parted lips lacked words, but it was a telling song nonetheless, one that sang all the praise that Troy's cock deserved and more.

But it was not enough. Not for Troy. "Say the name of the man making you cum," Troy ordered her tersely, hands now grasping over her life-cradling hips, pushing down on them to make her body meet his thrusts. "Make sure my neighbors can hear it, Poison Ivy. Let them know that big black cock can do things the Bat could never hope to do," he demanded. And yet now, Ivy couldn't make a sound beyond that wordless whine that just continued to emanate from her lush lips: the keening did not remain low, not in the slightest. It only grew and grew in pitch and volume as her pussy experienced an explosion of long-awaited bliss, the likes of which she had never previously felt.

The shakes only intensified with each additional inch of his huge cock inside her wet, churning cock-channel. When he could go no further or deeper inside her, there was still more of him left outside her, but that did not mean Ivy's stupefying orgasm leveled out there. He was brushing against parts of Ivy's pussy not meant to be nudged with a man's cock, but the brush of his cock's crown there just sent powerful shocks through her system. It was almost enough for Ivy to eschew her agnostic beliefs and begin believing in God, at least for one evening.

Not a Judo-Christian god or some flying spaghetti monster or the even the Presence and certainly not the Swamp Thing, but Troy Bashear's cock– his cock–

"Say my name," Troy demanded again, his hips not stilling despite bottoming out inside Ivy's snatch. Each small withdrawal he made was quickly made up for with a quick but short, deep thrust back to her cunt's apex. Her walls squelched and squeezed and shivered around him, like a Gotham City siren call for his cum, but after his previous orgasms he was well-prepared to endure its ferocious need for him to sow seed inside her. Fucking her asscheeks, fucking her tits, fucking her face– he hadn't done any of those things to make her envious of him getting off, but to prepare her for this. To wear her down, and ready himself.

Ivy still could not manage his demand. His face was close to hers; hers, still laced with his cum, lost in rapture with eyes tightly shut. Her wailing hymn to the glory of his cock reached a crescendo, high notes that would have startled the former supervillain if she could really hear them. The only noise in her ears was the hammering of her heart and the wet noises that came from him hammering her pussy. His voice was there, as was his command, but she just couldn't answer it. All she could do was cum, and cum she most certainly did all throughout, wet and gloriously messy tribute to his glorious cock. It leaked and almost sputtered out of her spasming cunt, too stretched-out by his thickness to do anything but.

Over and over again, Ivy came.

He could endure her, but Ivy could not endure him, and there was little that she could do to alleviate any of it: her nails dug deeper into her palms, scratching at them savagely, and the painful lock of her toes became their new normal. Where the prior fifteen minutes in her throat felt too short, the ten minutes he simply fucked her like the slut she was… it was too long! Too good, too good, too good, and finally something snapped in her. "Too good, too good, too good," Ivy cried out suddenly, breathlessly, her voice now ragged from overuse. The distressed yet euphoric words slurred together, her voice far from that of a sultry seductress who just gobbled so many goddamn men and women up in her heyday.

"Say my name, Ivy," Troy barked at her. He had been repeating the command the entire time, and only at the point of that internal breaking did Ivy find it within herself to do what he demanded of her. It was something she owed him; he was making her feel so good, she owed him the world. She owed him her everything, at least for the night.

"TROY! Troy Bashear! TROY BASHEAR IS MAKING ME CUM," Ivy screamed out as best her worn-out voice could allow, a bitch unrepentant, and proudly so. Another vicious orgasm began on top of all the others that had started, so many chained together yet blurring together; this one put an end to her writhing and squirming altogether, though her chest heaved with panting breaths, adding to the jiggle and sway of her sweat-soaked green tits.

And that may have been enough for Troy's purposes: with his demands met, something stark changed in the way he fucked her. He grew more intense, focused, no longer denying himself the right to get off with her verbose praise.

It was not enough for Ivy though, not after finding her voice. "Troy– your big, fat black cock– I love it, it's so amazing, your dick is so perfect," she gushed out torridly, much the same as her pussy was trying to squirt around him. "I love it, I love you, I love it–" she sputtered out thoughtlessly in the heat of the moment. The middle thing was a harrowing sentiment to share, but one that was heartfelt to share while he was still inside her. Expressing that love became her new litany; the one that she kept repeating to herself on her way to her 'interview' was tossed aside. Ivy was not testing any waters, she was getting the dick she so clearly needed; it was a very serious matter, and it was all thanks to Harley blithely offering career advice.

As if those carnally-enticed romantic expressions spurred him over the line, Troy finally gave his final thrust into Ivy, his fingers digging deep into her sides as he finally surrendered to the building pleasure inside him. "FUCK," he snarled out, painting Ivy's cervix with rope after rope of his cum, giving her pussy the seed its fertile fields so desired between hard exhales. Ivy came once more alongside him, eyes shut and mouth hanging open, but silent. It was a clear ending, a finale– there was nothing else left for Troy to do save perhaps fuck her ass, but with his cum already staining her face, breasts and backside, it felt superfluous.

"Let… yourself go…" Troy groaned out, his hands beginning to run over Ivy's sides. The vines began to withdraw from her body, allowing her to slump back against the couch's black leather. But Ivy was in love, and while Troy might have finished… she was not done, no matter how worn she might have appeared to the camera: slapped silly with semen, soaked with his sweat and hers, worked up so intensely and then fucked so very hard.

"... again?" Ivy whispered.

"I… don't think I've got another in me," Troy admitted with a laugh and then a grimace, starting to pull his hung cock from her hole. "Fuck, that was good. Maybe I should start a whole series of supervillainesses,"

"... but you'd go again if you could?" Ivy wondered, her eyes barely opening to gaze upon his handsome face. When he nodded and grinned a content apology at her, she acted without thinking; in her eyes, that was the permission. Simply willing it was enough to change her physiology, beginning the chemical reaction that had scentless pheromones oozing out of her body's pores, intensified by the sweat staining them both. "... then fuck me," Ivy whispered, daring to order the man that dominated her: No longer restrained, she lifted her hands to rest them flat on his chest, legs closing around his hips. "Fuck me, Troy. Fuck your slut with that big black cock. I love it."

It took a moment for the pheromones to take hold, but when they did, their effect was clear as day: Troy shuddered slightly, his eyes glazing and then closing. He swallowed and breathed in deep. The last inch of his cock never managed to leave Ivy's pussy, and already it was hard again. Without a word but with a fierce growl, he thrusted back into Ivy, and she announced his return to her depths to his neighbors with a throaty squeal of delight.

For their second round's kick-off, however, he did not fuck her like a man. He fucked her like a wild animal, like she was a bitch in heat and there was nothing more important than repeatedly inseminating her cunt. Where before his hands grabbed her hips and aided in the physical process, they now shoved down on her shoulders, holding her down against the back of the couch as he pounded her. "Y-yeah, like that, harder," Ivy demanded with delirious lewd glee, her nails managing to draw blood across his pecs. "Deeper!"

Before, he hadn't been able to fit his whole cock inside her– but now, with a semblance of control restored to her, Ivy altered her physiology again. It was a simple thing, really– her pussy was made to stretch out. Nature didn't need the cock-taking narrow channel to just widen, it needed it to get longer: its nine-inch track adjusted according to the chemical alterations Ivy released into herself. It was not a precise science, not while he was actively ramming himself deep into her, but when the process finished, his thrusts hilted him snugly into her snatch's squeezing hug, sweaty sack slapping against her ass. His more brutish use of her body got her off just as easily as his more level-headed skill, and Troy did not deny himself whatsoever: after only a few moments of savage pounding, he came inside her again. The sensation of his seed filling her fertile womb was a small thing, but it meant the world to Ivy.

"From… behind…" Ivy demanded between panting breaths, and Troy took to the instruction without question, just as she had for him; she let out a low gasp as he pulled out of her, and then a squealing grunt of surprise as he grabbed her wide hips and flipped her around. For one moment, they were in perfect sync with one another. Ivy shifted herself to present him with her rear-pussy just as she first did, ready to rest her arms atop the back of the couch. Troy let her widen her knees, and then diverged sharply from. Before Ivy could get her arms comfortably draped on the back leather, one of his hands found purchase in her hair near her scalp, twisting and shoving her face into the semen and sweat left on the couch from her back.

She didn't mind that. She didn't mind that at all. She wanted it hard. She wanted it rough. She wanted him to use her, and she wanted to taste him– even if it was just residue. Ivy's pink tongue lapped at the gleaming leather as Troy slammed himself back inside of her, continuing to pull and twist at her hair. His other hand found the sore ass cheek his spanking hand previously favored and laid into it again, each one making the part-plant babe moan for more, for more, for more. The angle with which he drove inside her tickled along previously-neglected walls of her cunt, driving her to one quick orgasm after another, and those orgasms pulled Troy along for the ride in short order. Her womb overflowed with his cum, but–

"Again," Ivy demanded.

"Again," Ivy begged.

"Again," Ivy wailed. And again, again, and again he fucked her. The sloppy state she was in prior to his first thrust into her pussy only worsened. Nay, it bettered in their eyes and the eyes of those who would later spend their hard earned cash for the privilege of seeing world-renowned porn star Troy Bashear absolutely destroy Poison Ivy. Each time he pulled out of her pussy completely, the various cameras throughout the office caught high resolution footage of the former supervillain's gaping cunt, spastic with an everpresent twitch of delight and drooling the seed he planted inside her. It was not enough for him to just cum inside her pussy over and over; Troy laced her back a second time, re-applied the lewd wet paint on her tits and re-glazed her face over the next hour.

With her pheromones influencing him, his body had been kicked into overdrive, testes producing cum as quickly as his cock could pump it out. After fucking her laying back on the desk, he shot his load atop her stretched cunt's spread lips and over her mound, only furthering his claim over her with each time. On a few occasions, Troy took Ivy's demands to be fucked this-way or that-way as suggestions instead: any time she tried to adopt a position where she could be a more active party in their fucking, his prompt dicking-down put her back in her place and showed her who was on top.

Not that she minded. It went right along with what Ivy wanted, in the end, just as their true finale did: her on her knees on the floor, his hands clutching at her hair. Ivy had wanted to suck him off for what would be their last finish; the pheromones could push Troy to superhuman heights, but his body only had so many calories to work with and she could tell he was flagging. In his need to dominate her, Troy didn't let her employ her tongue; he didn't even let her make use of her mouth at all despite having learned how good it could be. His turgid length slapped across her face and fucked along her cheeks, furthering the smear of his cum and Ivy's long-ruined makeup across her visage. He didn't aim when it came time to let loose his final load. It mostly ended up in her hair and on the floor.

In the two hours they filmed together, Ivy felt like she made up for her two years dry. The casting couch interview was not much of an interview at all; all the questions were asked in the first few minutes, and the rest of their 'dialogue' was just Ivy expressing her love for him and his big black cock.

Sedating pheromones helped calm him down from his feral need to fuck her, and at that point Troy clearly felt the rigors of what he had done– woozy, weak of limb and unsteady. Ivy was feeling it, too– he had been clubbing her hips so damn hard. It was no trouble for her to formulate a very precise amount of morphine within herself and release it. She topped it off with something akin to a concentrated shot of espresso. Together, it was enough to take the edge off, but not enough to impair her as she rose and wrapped her arms around Troy, taking the bulk of his muscle-laden weight. With a polite mental request, she asked the plants to clean up after them, and the already-grown vines began to twist into new forms, biology evolving to give them the ability to imbibe all the spilled fluids and take nutrients from them.

"Where's… the washroom?" Ivy mumbled, beginning to drag the much larger man out of his office. One of the vine tentacles followed after her, sucking up the snail trail she couldn't help but leave behind her. He wordlessly lifted a hand and waved it in a direction; the washroom happened to be on the other side of the condo completely, but Ivy didn't mind. She liked holding him, feeling him rely on her smaller feminine form. She liked the smell of him, and she certainly didn't mind spending an extra few minutes just caked in his semen.

It was a wide, spacious washroom, sporting both a shower and a tub. The shower was tempting… and sexier, too. It was where Ivy could have pinned Troy against the wall and really taken control. A baffling amount of grip bars were installed inside the stall, probably for the sake of fucking in a variety of ways. But Ivy had gotten what she needed out of him already, and it was time to give a little something back to Troy.

With how hard he hounded her holes and body even before Ivy started using her powers, he should have been the one taking care of her after the fact. But the scale and duration of their filmed degeneracy was all Ivy, and for all his size over hers? She was the metahuman between them, even if his cock's baffling size seemed like some sort of superpower. Ivy was his big spoon in the tub, his head resting against her pillowy breasts once all his sperm was scrubbed away. Her hands ran over him fondly as she cleaned his body for him.

"... you're fucking amazing," Troy groaned wearily to her, resting heavily against her as Ivy's hands were tending to his most intimate bits, the parts of his body that she was now most familiar with.

"You're one to talk," Ivy murmured, biting at her bottom lip as she felt him start to harden. She didn't suppress her grin as she began to curl her fingers around his shaft, slowly stroking it while playing with his balls. "You're a glutton for good pussy, aren't you?"

"Apparently," Troy shuddered. "Damn, woman. You were doing freaky shit to me, right? I've never been like… that before."

"Did you mind? … Do you mind?" Ivy asked, of both her past actions and present. When Troy gave her a positive answer, she just smiled and carried on. The post-coital handjob never quite got to the point of her jerking him off, just a gentle rub and tug that barely splashed the surface of their bathwater. After a few moments of quiet, warm intimacy, his fresh nut laced the water and they finished up. The vine tentacle that had followed them from the office helped her towel him down, then helped get her hair clean. Thereafter, they retired to Troy's living room, side-by-side in fluffy bathrobes, ready to just relax.

But a part of Troy refused to stay down. "Seriously? You should be dehydrated by now," Ivy muttered with disbelief, but a smile creeping up on her lips. He was sheepish about the boner, but not ashamed of it; she fetched him some water from the kitchen and ordered some delivery from around the corner, then returned. As he emptied out the bottle given to him, Ivy took to her knees on the living room's couch and parted his robe below his waist, greeting his cock with a sweet kiss and a languid roll of her tongue. There was no urgency in her sucking, no rush– just slow, sweet appreciation for the unexpected gift that the evening turned out to be. Ivy was just swallowing his feeble, truly final load of the evening when the doorbell rang.

The poor delivery guy was not prepared to be face-to-face with Poison Ivy, but she sent him off with a reassuringly large tip and returned to Troy. They didn't talk much, not even about what they had just done. They turned the television as they ate their Chinese straight from the box. She simply leaned on him, and he relaxed beneath her.

"Do you care if I stay the night?" Ivy eventually asked. "I'd rather have a good night's sleep before doing my walk of shame," she admitted to Troy, glancing up at him tentatively.

"Sure, but I don't have a spare toothbrush."

"You keep women's bathrobes in your bachelor pad where you shoot porn… and you don't keep spare toothbrushes?" Ivy asked, smiling with amused disbelief.

"Yeah," Troy replied after a moment, pensive. "That's an oversight. Uh, we can share though, if you don't mind–"

"I've had your cock in my mouth. I don't mind," Ivy promised him. They didn't sleep naked when it came time to fade off into the Sandman's territory. He tossed on some lounge pants, and Ivy helped herself to one of his t-shirts, which fit her like a nightgown.

When she awoke before him the next morning and felt his hard-on rubbing against her thigh… Well, Ivy couldn't help herself. She put his cock right back in her mouth to give him a very special wake-up call, skipping his offer of cooked breakfast to ensure she would keep the taste of his cum on her tongue all the way home. He let her keep the t-shirt, and she wore it under her blouse once she got dressed.

And that was that. It was over, and it felt as sudden as it began. Yet for two days, it was all that she could think about in idle moments, and her normally flora-filled dreams were instead filled with a particular black cock filling her green pussy. Ivy wondered when he would post the video, and what it would mean for her.

She wondered… if he was thinking about her, too. If he was fucking other women, imagining the porn stars delighted by his dick to instead be Dr. Pamela Isley. If he wished she was beside him in bed, resting her head on his chest. Or his on her breasts. Whichever. Ivy found it a bit uncomfortable; a touch confusing. She resolved to tell her psychiatrist about it, who just so happened to be her best friend (and also, for legal reasons, not her actual psychiatrist).

The specifics of the text message she sent Harley took a while to settle on. Do I say I fucked a guy and I think I caught feelings for him? Do I tell her that we had marathon sex and I'm like… desperate to get railed by him again? She settled on something more neutral, yet full-frontal in its honesty, reading it out as she tapped it out and hit send. "Hey. I fucked this porn star named Troy Bashear and need to talk about it. Do you want to grab a coffee?"

Harley called her back within five seconds and squealed like Ivy just announced her engagement.